


Lost

by dreamthievespart17



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brief Descriptions of Injury, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, I’m not really sure how to tag this, Mild Horror, Nighttime, Pain, This is a dark one folx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamthievespart17/pseuds/dreamthievespart17
Summary: Kavinsky is lost.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Lost

It is evening and the world is slowly darkening and Kavinsky is lost. 

No, not lost like he doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know which direction home is, but lost like he doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t know what he needs anymore. 

The streets are dark and empty, lights knocked out block after block, a citywide power outage, and Kavinsky is lost. 

Every house is dark and that would come as no surprise, seeing as it is three am, but the street lamps are down too, twenty four hour signs eerily nonfunctional and with the missing moon, it feels like the whole world has had its senses shut off. 

The dark is a living creeping thing, smothering him and he wants to scream, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want it to get inside, at least, not more than it already has. 

He leaves his car by the side of the road and wanders aimlessly, the only sound the crunch of gravel under his shoes, the only sensation, the sharp bite of his nails digging into his palms. The dark is overwhelming and he relishes it, just like he relishes the pain. 

He wonders if he should go home, turn back, turn away. His pack needs him, they become lost when he is not around, but better they be lost and home then lost and wandering aimlessly, like he does now. 

He isn’t looking where he’s going – not that there would be much to see even if he did – and suddenly, two bright lights are shining in his eyes and there is noise and he freezes as sound pierces his being before his body moves and he throws himself to the side… and the car keeps driving. 

Moments, hours, decades later, he sits up, cracked pavement biting into his palms and forearms and knees where his jeans are artfully torn and skin foolishly vulnerable. He sits up and he can feel the grime that digs into the tender flesh of his palms, darkly-spun webs of blood forming in the lines of his hands, liquid pain dripping from the sliced open skin. He must have landed on some shards of glass, he reasons, before standing on shaky legs and continuing on his way. 

He wonders where he’s going. He wonders if he’ll ever get there. 

He keeps walking. 

Lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was depressing!
> 
> Idk I just wrote this and figured I might as well put it up...
> 
> Tumblr @somniabundant


End file.
